The Secret Life of Thomas Barrow
by Two-on-a-Tower
Summary: Thomas Barrow is the first footman at Downton Abbey. His work is his life, and the other servants his rivals. He is arrogant and ambitious, and he is hiding a secret, which is revealed when his past becomes his present. / Still looking for a beta reader. :)
1. Chapter 1

After an exhausting day at Downton Abbey, Thomas was finally sitting on the rocking chair in the darkest corner of the servant's hall. The daily newspaper in one and a cup of tea in the other hand, but in the end he did neither read nor drink. Thomas was observing the other servants. It was a nasty habit – to be honest – but a useful one, because secrets were useful for him. From his position, he could easily see that Anna, the little blonde housemaid, was chatting with Mr Bates. Sometimes Thomas even caught a word or two. However, he didn't need to understand everything to see that Anna was fond of Mr Bates, and vice versa. Why this was so, he couldn't tell. Mr Bates was older, his face somehow crumpled, and his soul as crippled as his leg. You could see it in his eyes. Thomas didn't trust him, because Mr Bates had shown up only a couple of weeks ago to be Lord Grantham's valet. Albeit the crippled man couldn't fulfil his duties, he was allowed to stay, and the other servants had to do some of his work. It wasn't fair. Even Mr Carson, the severe butler, appreciated Mr Bates work, but only because Mr Bates was an old friend of Lord Grantham and an old friend of Lord Grantham couldn't be a bad servant.

Thomas sipped his tea. It had turned cold, but the taste of camomile was still strong. It was his favourite, because it remembered him of a time long past. He sipped again while turning his gaze toward the young blonde man who was chatting with one of the kitchen maids. His name was William. He was the second footman, and albeit he was only one year younger than himself everybody treated him like a child. Mr Carson was very indulgent to him, and Mrs Hughes, the housekeeper, watched over him like a mother would watch her child. As Thomas looked at her, he felt the typical pressing feeling in his tummy area. It was sharp, but short. He always felt it when he looked at her, but he had decided not to ask his body, especially his heart, why. Feelings were for the weak, and envy was for the weakest – the ones who envied others because they weren't able to achieve anything by themselves, but Thomas was certain, he wasn't one of them. One day he would be butler, and one day others would envy him. "One day," he whispered soundlessly, before a loud bang jolted him out of his thoughts.

"Didn't I tell you that the cooking pot should not stand on the table, Daisy?" Mrs Pattmore scolded.

"I … I am sorry. I really am. I … I didn't want this to happen. I … I," said the kitchen maid quietly, leaving the sentence unfinished.

"I am sorry, too. The preparations for tomorrow's dinner were in this pot. I don't have the time to do it again, and," Mrs Pattmore's round face turned from red to white, "I don't have enough lemons. The dinner is ruined." She sat down, silenced by realisation.

"Mrs Pattmore, I could go to the shop tomorrow, if you want me to go?" Thomas said with a smile, which didn't reach his eyes.

"You would do that? Oh, thank God. - Daisy, you also should give thanks to Thomas. He probably saved your job." As the young kitchen maid turned to him, he could see how her cheeks were turning red. Her small but dirty fingers burrowed sheepishly into her beige apron.

"Thank you, Thomas."

"It is my pleasure," he said with a wink, noticing how she blushed even more. He knew, she was in love with him, and he also knew that one day she could be useful.

"Mr Bates, may I help you?" Thomas said quietly. The valet was staring at him.

"Why do you do it?" he whispered back eventually.

"What do I do?"

"Why do you want to go to the shop tomorrow?" Thomas sighed.

"It is my duty as first footman to ensure that the reputation of Downton Abbey won't be ruined tomorrow. As you know, Lord Grantham is expecting important guests and a poor dinner would ruin his reputation as well as ours. I just fulfil my duty."

Mr Bates was not convinced. Thomas could tell by the wrinkles on his forehead which were deeper than usual, but he didn't care. If it meant that he could escape Mr Carson's scolding, Mrs Hughes's attentively gaze, as well as Anna's and Mr Bates's billing and cooing just for an hour, he would do everything.

-/-

It was an unusually cold day for April. Thomas's ears were hurting from the chilly wind; the black cap on his head merely protected half of it. Nevertheless, he enjoyed walking back from the shop to Downton Abbey. There was hardly anybody to be seen in the streets; the air was fresh, but vitalising. He walked slowly despite the bleakness, because those moments in which he was alone were rare. In a house like Downton Abbey, where more than 20 servants worked together, and where you have to share a room with at least one other person, you couldn't be alone for a second. Privacy was a privilege, which was not granted to servants – except you were butler, housekeeper, or valet. Another reason why Thomas wanted to be promoted: he needed his privacy, because he was a man with secrets; secrets as dark as the unfathomable depths of human nature.

As Thomas went to the back entrance, the entrance for servants and supplier, he could immediately tell that something was wrong. The door was slightly ajar, and indistinct voices were carried by the wind.

"What are you doing here, boy? Answer me? Did you want to steal something?" It was Mr Carson's voice, which Thomas heard first, followed by William's.

"Shall I get the police, Mr Carson?"

"Boy, tell me why you are here!"

At this point, Thomas entered. His pulse rate increased with every step, because it was rare to have a stranger in the house; maybe a stranger with a dark secret or with a story to tell. He could only see Mr Carson's broad back at first and Mrs Hughes brown hair, but the moment Thomas stepped on the last of the three old wooden stairs which led to the servant's hall, he could see the stranger at once. He could see the boy's dark brown hairs, but what got his attention were the greyish eyes. Eyes like steel, eyes like his eyes.

"Tomasz!" the boy exclaimed, and as if on cue, everybody turned to face the astonished footman.

"Thomas," Mr Carson was the first to speak again, "You'll explain immediately what's going on. Now!"


	2. Chapter 2

Thomas and the boy were sitting opposite each other at the small table in Mrs Hughes's room. Two cups of tea and a teapot were between them. The tea was still hot, but neither of the two men drank from it.

"What are you doing here, Jacob?" Thomas eventually asked with a husky voice. He mouth felt unusually dry.

"I was looking for you," the boy answered, before they relapsed in silence. Thomas's voice was gone for the moment, but his eyes were roaming restlessly. Jacob had changed. Now, he was almost as large as Thomas, but thinner; too thin. His hair was dark brown and dishevelled. His lips were firmly pressed against each other, but his silver eyes were showing his uncertainty. The grey had become darker over the years, Thomas thought.

"You are 14 now," Thomas said realising slowly how many years had gone by.

"Yes, and you are 23, Tomasz." They looked each other deep in the eyes, before Thomas broke off the eye contact.

"Don't call me that," he said finally.

"But it is your name, isn't it? The name mother gave you, the name she and I have always used." Thomas could feel how his heart missed a beat.

"Yeah, but that was a long time ago. Mother died ten years ago. You can barely remember her," Thomas said rubbing his cold hands together.

"That is not true," Jacob hissed, "I remember her. Her smile, her brown eyes and hair, her scent; she always smelt of camomile," Jacob sighted and looked down at his hands, "And I remember the night she died, and the night you left. Tomasz, why did you leave so fast?"

"To support you and father. You needed money. Therefore, I went into service. And here I am. Downton has been my home for the last ten years."

"We both know that this is not the whole truth. So, why did you _really _leave? One week after mother died. You could have worked with father as a clockmaker." The only answer Thomas gave was silence.

"I know that you and father had an argument that night. And I know what he did to you. The …"

"ENOUGH!" Thomas ran a shaking hand through his hair, "I just cannot visit you. Okay? This is all you need to know." He wasn't prepared for this. Why was his past haunting him? He took the cup of tea, and drank slowly. Even though the tea was cold by now, the liquid felt warm in his mouth. He could feel its way to his stomach. He shivered as he put the cup on the table. His body was out of control, his heart threated to burst.

"Tomasz," their eyes met again, "I am not here to quarrel with you. Quite the contrary, I've missed you, and I wanted to thank you for all the money you've sent us."

Thomas smiled sadly. The past ten years, he had sent two-third of his salary to his father and Jacob, but he knew that this wasn't enough; that he needed to be a valet to give his brother a better life. But maybe it was too late now.

"You did leave school early, didn't you?" Thomas asked, suddenly changing the topic.

"Why do you ask that? It doesn't matter now."

"For me it does. I've sent the money so that you could attend school, that you could have a better life than me; far away from service and unprofitable work," Thomas could feel a headache developing. "Why are you here, Jacob?"

"I need your help," the boy admitted, "I know, you have already done a lot, but I don't know what to do anymore. Father has started drinking again. At first, it hasn't affected his work as a clockmaker, but little by little he's neglected it. So _I_ tried to do his work," he smiled lopsided, "But I couldn't keep to the deadlines. The customers got angry with me, and now there are hardly any customers left," he swallowed dryly, "But there's more to it than that. Father gambles. As far as I know, he has debts. 15 Pounds."

Thomas's eyes widened in shock.

"15 Pounds? This is half of my annually salary," he exclaimed, "I don't have so much money left. Actually, I have no money left; just three or four pounds." Thomas looked his brother in the eyes, searching for words unsaid.

"It's not enough," Jacob said resigned, "They will come and destroy our shop. They will destroy us." His voice struggled to sound steady.

"Who will come?"

"Father's debt collectors; they have threated use, more than once. If they destroy our shop, father and I, we will be unemployed, and soon homeless. And all the things you have done for us would have been for nothing. I am ashamed, Tomasz, because I couldn't prevent it. I've failed." Jacob closed his eyes, while trying to keep his jar from trembling. He was exhausted, and cold.

"Jacob," Thomas whispered and laid his hand on the bony shoulder of his brother. He could feel the thin frame shivering, "I will help you. I can't promise anything, but…," he trailed off, "Just let me think everything over."


	3. Chapter 3

It was Mrs Hughes, who suddenly knocked at the door and brought the brothers back to reality.

"Thomas, you are needed for Lord Grantham's luncheon," she said, "The food will go up in five minutes." Thomas looked with surprise at the small wooden clock on her wall. He had spent the entire morning with Jacob in this little room, and nobody had disturbed them. After a second, he knew exactly whom he had to give his thanks. But why did she help him?

"I'm sorry, Jacob, but I have to go," he said and stood up. The moment his hand reached for the door handle, he turned around, "Where do you stay?

"Nowhere. I've just arrived this morning," the younger man looked uncomfortably, "And I have no money left. Maybe I could stay with you." Thomas snorted.

"This is not a hotel, and Mr Carson would definitely not agree to this. Especially not for me," he murmured. Jacob nodded, but said:

"Doesn't he like you, this Mr Carson?"

"Well, let's say I'm not quite popular here. I…"

"THOMAS! NOW!" Mr Carson saved him from further explanations. The footman smiled apologetically and opened the door.

"I'll ask him. For now, you can sit in the servants' hall, if you want, or go out. This will take about an hour." And with that, Thomas hurried to get the plates. As he left Mrs Hughes's room and went past the servants' hall, he could see the questioning look on Anna's and Mr Bates's face, but he decided to ignore them.

"I'd like to have an explanation later," whispered a voice into his ear. Thomas was startled for a moment, but as he turned around, he looked upon the well-known face of Mrs O'Brian. The woman with the brown hair, and dark eyes was the lady's maid at Downton Abbey. She understood his ambitions, she herself had ambitions, and sometimes, Thomas even thought she was somehow dangerous, but she was always nice to him. Thomas would almost say that she was his only friend at Downton.

"Of course, out in the yard, and bring me a cigarette," he said while putting on his white gloves. Then he took the plates on a tray from Daisy and followed William upstairs. His thoughts, however, remained downstairs.

-/-

Jacob didn't know what to do now. He didn't feel comfortable with strangers, so he decided to sneak out until Thomas had finished serving. He grabbed his little brown bag which contained some of his clothes and other personal belongings, and hold it tight as he followed Thomas out of the room. He couldn't see his brother anymore, but he could hear different voices chattering, or barking orders. As he went to the door, he sensed the tempting smell of freshly cooked food, which made his stomach rumbling. He was hungry. He hadn't eaten anything since he'd left his home one day ago, but he didn't dare ask the cook for food. Instead he continued his way to the door. As he passed the servants' hall, he risked a glimpse inside. A young blonde woman was chatting with an older man. She looked nice in her green dress and her white apron, he thought, but also tired. He could see it in her eyes.

As Jacob reached for the back door, he heard a stern female voice with a Scottish accent.

"And where are you going?" Jacob was stunned.

"Out?" he suggested while turning around. From the first moment he had looked at the woman, he felt reminded of his old math teacher. It was not only the brown and curly hair, but also the stern look she gave him. Her dark brown eyes voicelessly demanded a more elaborate answer. However, he was not a servant. She couldn't give him orders. In the end, she was just a woman.

"And why would you go out?

"Why should I be here?" he asked defensively, "I'm not a servant, and Tomasz has to fulfil his duties. I would just be under your feet."

"You wouldn't be under _my_ feet if you sit with us in the servants' hall while eating some sandwiches. Mrs Pattmore's cooking is excellent." And with that she turned around and left him alone in the hallway. Jacob was torn between going and staying. In the end, his stomach decided to go into the servants' hall. Not for long, of course, just for some sandwiches.

As he entered the small hall, he could see that the blonde woman and the older man were still there. She was looking at him friendly while the older man seemed to examine him from head to toe. Jacob shuddered unwillingly, but continued his way into the room.

"Very well. You can sit here," said the woman again, before she introduced herself, "My name is Mrs Hughes and I am the head housekeeper. That means that I am in charge of all the female servants." Jacob nodded.

"And I'm Anna," said the blonde one suddenly. Her voice was somehow soft; even warm. It made him feel welcome, "So? Who are you?"

"Jacob," he said.

"Nice to meet you, Jacob." He smiled sheepishly, before he sat down next to Mrs Hughes; his brown bag now between his legs on the floor.

"You are a friend of Thomas?" the older man, who hadn't introduced himself, asked suddenly.

"Yes, you could say so." Jacob grabbed one of the sandwiches and bit off a large piece while eyeing the man suspiciously. He had brown hair and bushy eyebrows, a bulbous nose and a wide mouth. He wasn't dressed the way Thomas was. Instead of wearing a green and black waistcoat and a white tie, he was dressed in a black suit and a black tie.

"You are not a footman?" Jacob asked.

"No, I'm not. I am Lord Grantham's valet."

"Valet, huh?" He tried to remember the position of a valet in the system, but the only thing he could think of was that Thomas wanted to be a valet.

"So, why you are not serving food right now?" The man snorted.

"Because this is not my job. We have the first and the second footman serving food and the butler supervising their work," he explained, "You are not a servant yourself, aren't you?"

"No, I am a clockmaker," Jacob said.

"So is Thomas's father", said a cold voice from the door. As Jacob looked up, he could see a woman of about 40 years of age wearing a black dress. Her eyes were nearly as cold as her voice.

"Yes, that's right," he said eventually.

"Have you met him there? Thomas, I mean." The woman was now sitting opposite him making Jacob feel uncomfortable.

"No." he said.

"No?" she eyed him, "You seem too young to be one of his _special_ friends."

"Miss O'Brien!" It was Mrs Hughes, who looked at her sternly, "I think, you have work to do." The lady's maid looked like she wanted to say something, but her words never reached the surface. Instead she retreated silently.

"I'm sorry, Jacob," Mrs Hughes said, but Jacob didn't understand what she meant.

"It's alright – I think." He risked a side glance to Anna, who had turned pale, the older man, on the other hand, looked as confused as Jacob felt at the moment. "I am Tomasz's friend, and his brother – just to make this clear." He was confused as he looked from one perplex face into another.

"His brother," Anna echoed, "I didn't know that he has a brother." Jacob shrugged his shoulders. He didn't quite know what to say, so he remained silent. It was the older man who broke the silence.

"So why do you call him 'Tomasz'?"

Now Jacob was really confused.

"It is his name, isn't it?" he said, before murmuring to himself, "Even though nobody seems to remember."


	4. Chapter 4

After serving luncheon for Lord Grantham, the first thing Thomas heard as he was going down was his name. The name, however, was not said out loud. It was just a whisper, but it made Thomas's heart beat faster. He remained silent and stood in the middle of the stairs; the tray with the dishes in both hands.

"What did O'Brien mean with Thomas's _special_ friend?" It was a rough male voice.

"I can't tell you that. It is not my secret. I'm sorry." Thomas knew at once that this voice belonged to Anna. It was high but warm, now however, it sounded somehow concerned. So the other voice must belong to Mr Bates, he concluded. Thomas could feel his heart in his mouth as they continued speaking.

"Anna," Mr Bates said, "If you, Mrs Hughes, and even O'Brien know about it," he didn't finish his sentence. Instead Thomas could hear him sigh, "Why don't you trust me?"

"Mr Bates," Anna sounded really offended, "You are the only person I really trust. You know, I like you. To be honest, I like you very much, but first of all, it is Thomas's secret and secondly, I don't know if it is even true. And if it is true," she was whispering now, "then he lives a dangerous life. A life I do not envy him for because for this, he could be imprisoned." Thomas closed his eyes for a second. He felt cold. He tried to move, but his feet were too heavy, his fingers tense.

"So you won' tell me anything more?"

"No, I won't."

Thomas could feel the rigid metal of the tray. It was his anchor to reality. The crippling silence was suddenly disrupted by a voice.

"Out of the way," It was William who was rushing with more dishes in his hands downstairs. "Thomas, are you dreaming?" he shouted, before he disappeared into the kitchen. Thomas took a deep breath, and with his head high he continued his way downstairs, albeit his heart was still aching. As he reached the last step, he could see Anna and Mr Bates.

"Mr Bates," Thomas said snarky, "Are you once again tryingto woo Anna with your crippling charm?" It was his luck that both were too stunned to see him so soon after talking about him so he could pass without any further comments. Nevertheless, Thomas remained tense. Even though, he had only heard a few scraps of conversation, it was obvious that O'Brien had something to do with Bates interest in him. He couldn't dispel the thought of having more people snooping

As Thomas arrived in the kitchen, he tried to calm himself. Not Mr Bates was his biggest problem at the moment, but his father's debts. During Lord Grantham's luncheon, his thoughts never left Jacob and his plea to help him. With his thoughts still revolving around Jacob's situation, he went upstairs again to get more dishes. However, as he passed Mr Carson's door, his thoughts seemed to spin over. His greatest problem was money, and Mr Carson was the man with the most money – at least downstairs. Thomas would never dare to steal something from Lord Grantham. This had nothing to do with his respect for him, but more with Thomas's fear of getting caught. A servant, who was seen stealing, was never seen working again. However, Mr Carson was still upstairs and Thomas was sure that the old butler still needed more time until the dining room war cleared up. Thomas heart was racing again. He could feel his rapid heartbeat in his throat and his fingertips. His body was suddenly cold and his mouth dry. He licked his lips but they remained chapped. His grey eyes looked along the hallway. He couldn't see anybody. Distant noises, on the other hand, seemed louder, he realised. From his position, he could hear Mr Pattmore shouting at Daisy, some chattering in the servants' hall, and even the draught which was constantly slipping through the gap in the backdoor seemed as loud as a winter storm. Thomas took a deep breath before he grasped the door handle with his left hand. He was horrified as the typical sound of door hinges seemed to be too loud. It was like a scream for justice in a moment of wrongfulness. Thomas slipped into the room and closed the door.

The room itself was equipped with a wooden writing desk in the right corner. On the desk were some pens, papers, and stamps. A heavy, bronze-coloured lamp was partly standing on a pile of paper. As Thomas looked closely, he could see various letters. He ached for looking at those since they must bear some useful secrets but time was short. Thomas glanced around as he finally found what he was looking for: Mr Carson's coat. The black coat was hanging on the clothes hook next to the door. It seemed dusty and not as clean as Mr Carson's work clothing, but it was to be expected from a man who was only living for his work and not for pleasure. Thomas reached for the fabric and was surprised how soft it felt. With shaking fingers he made a grab for Mr Carson's wallet. He knew that it must be in the coat since he had seen Mr Carson more than once taking it out of his coat pocket. As Thomas's fingers touched the surface of the purse, his heart stopped for a moment. He was holding his breath as he drew it out. Finally, he thought, as he had the brown purse in his hand. It felt heavy in his hands and as he opened it, he saw more money than expected. Nearly ten pounds! Thomas felt dizzy. He closed his eyes while pondering how much money he could take without being noticed. However, as he closed his eyes, he could hear footsteps approaching. Fast footsteps, he noticed, which were coming into his direction. Thomas felt paralyzed as the door opened with the same scream of justice as before.

"Thomas! What are you doing here?" Mrs Hughes looked at him sternly, before her gaze shifted to the purse in his hands.

"Doesn't this purse belong to Mr Carson?" she asked. The feeling of being trapped made Thomas's thoughts slow, but finally he said:

"Yes, Mrs Hughes. I found this in the hallway. I just wanted to give it back to him." To illustrate his words, Thomas put the purse back into the coat pocket.

"I am glad, I found the purse. If one of the hall boys had found it, Mr Carson would have never seen his purse again. Do you think he would offer me a reward? No, I thought so. What a pity." Thomas was still trembling. He was glad that Mrs Hughes couldn't see his knees shaking and that he hid his tensed and sweaty hands behind his back. He was, however, content with his answer while hoping that Mrs Hughes would believe him.

"Thomas," she said slowly, and he could see that she was still trying to comprehend the situation, "Mr Carson and I, we would like to see you in my office. I think we have something to discuss." Thomas heart stopped for a second. "And bring your brother with you."


	5. Chapter 5

The train clattered and it seemed to sound a rhythm in a remote part of his memory. He dozed in the corner of his seat and awoke with a start, having dreamed he was in the village of his childhood. He found himself in his old children's room with his bed with a form that strikes one as mannered and a dark chest beneath the window. At last he managed to catch himself in a moment of waking and forces his legs up. He stood at the window and gazed at the fields. It took some minutes before he could convince himself that he was not dreaming and that he indeed was in the train back to his childhood, back to his father.

After the conversation with Mrs Hughes and Mr Carson, who was unusually taciturn, they had agreed on the following: Thomas was allowed to leave Downton Abbey for three days. Furthermore, he got a wage advance, but only if his brother worked as a hall boy for this time span. Thomas had protested, but since Jacob had agreed immediately, he couldn't do anything for his brother.

"This is just fair," his brother had said, "And I don't mind. Or do you think I can't do this?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Everybody can do the work of a hall boy. Just look at ours, some boys who can hardly write their own name." Jacob had looked at him sternly.

"Come on," Thomas had sighed, "I show you where you can sleep and maybe we'll find you a white shirt."

Thomas yawned and covered his mouth with his right hand, before he sat down again. He still couldn't believe his luck; a wage advance and three days off without telling the whole truth. 'A private matter' he had firmly said while looking straight into Mr Carson's eyes. He could see that the other man had wanted to say something but since he had kept quiet Thomas had left the room as quickly as possible. Equally quickly, he had packed his suitcase and instructed Jacob in the proper work procedure of a hall boy, and the next morning he was in the train back to his long forgotten past.

Thomas yawned again and rubbed his eyes. A brief glance at his old pocket watch revealed that he'd arrive in ten minutes. This pocket watch, however, also revealed that he had a past. A fact, Thomas tried to forget, to hide and delete from his memory. Albeit born as the son of a clockmaker, as the grandson of a clockmaker, he was doomed to live a life on his own; far away from his home, and from the clocks with their familiar ticking. Carefully, he turned the pocket watch around. The engraving on the back was hardly visible, but he knew by heart what the single letters tried to conceal: _From father to son - A hand for each one._ Thomas sighed. As a small boy, he had admired this watch from a distance. His father had got this watch from his grandfather and Thomas had known that one day it would be his. He had imagined over and over again how his father would give him this valuable item. 'The moment you finished your training as a clockmaker, I'll be proud to give you this watch,' his father had always said. However, Thomas never finished his training as a clockmaker, and his father had never been proud.

Three minutes left, the watch whispered before Thomas put it in his pocket again. It felt heavy, but pleasantly familiar. In three minutes, he would be back. In three minutes his past became his present, but he wouldn't let it become his future. His future was at Downton Abbey. One day, he would be the butler and one day, the people would respect him for what he was and today, he would lay the foundations for his future success.

As the train stopped, the first thing Thomas noticed was that the village looked exactly the same. Nothing had changed. As he was walking, his first impression was confirmed. He saw the old pub on the left side of the main street. It was the pub, his father used to visit after a long day. Across from the pub was _Mrs Tenner's Sewing Shop_ and, Thomas couldn't believe it, the old bookshop. As a child, he'd spent hours in this bookshop. The owner, Mr Remington, was very friendly and always good-humoured. Thomas would even say that this man was one of his few friends as a boy. They'd talked hours about a book, exchanged opinions and even quarrelled about their favourite characters. It was childish, Thomas knew by now, but Mr Remington had always seemed to enjoy it.

As he entered the shop, the familiar smell of old books welcomed him. 'How could I forget this place,' Thomas thought as looked at all the books, reading the titles in his thoughts.

"May I help you?" a young woman from behind suddenly asked.

"Oh, no. Thank you. I was just looking." Thomas stammered, feeling like his nine-year-old self. But then, he had an idea. "I'm sorry, but can I speak to Mr Remington?"

"Yes, of course. He is unwrapping new books at the moment, but I'll fetch him for you." Thomas nodded, unable to speak since his heart seemed to lie on his tongue.

"How can I help you, sir," a rough voice said, but Thomas didn't listen.

"You're not Mr Remington," he said rudely.

"Yes, I am. Mr Robert Remington Jr." After a pause he added friendly, "You expected to see my father, didn't you?" Thomas nodded again.

"Yes, yes. I am sorry. I didn't want to be rude. I was just surprised. I… I didn't… I came into this shop spontaneously and I thought, I could talk to him… but… Nevertheless, thank you very much." Thomas just wanted to leave and hide his disappointment, but one last question held him back. "When did he…?" Remington Jr. looked surprised.

"Oh, let me think. Three years ago. One day, he went to bed and the next morning, he was dead; his favourite book still in his hands. All in all, it was a peaceful death." He concluded.

"Thank you. Good-bye." Thomas said and left the shop. 'Three years ago,' he thought, 'Three years. Why haven't I written at least one letter?"

Time was a cruel companion.


End file.
